


Quo Vadis

by KrokoRobin



Category: Collateral (2004)
Genre: M/M, Physical Contact Issues, character suffering from PTSD caused by parental abuse and combat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:12:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1827601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrokoRobin/pseuds/KrokoRobin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Vincent survived the train incident. No human can ever dream to be a perfectly functioning machine, not even Vincent.<br/>(Four drabbles for a 100 word challenge.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impervious Armor.

He had immediately played along. Or maybe he had even wanted it as much as Max did. Did either of them even want it? Max did not dare to venture into the corner of his head where that decision had been made. He was afraid what else he would find there. That was probably why he did not ask Vincent either.

He still stirred when Max touched him at the wrong time, and usually batted away his hands before Max’ fingers got into contact with his skin.

Vincent got up, put his clothes back on and left without a word.


	2. Cracks in the Surface.

Right at the beginning, Vincent had made it clear that he would not stay over. But every now and then, physical exhaustion got the best of him. He was not getting younger after all, Max thought.

As Vincent laid there, sprawled out on his belly, Max could have sworn he heard a faint snore escaping the other’s lips. There was something about this sleeping Vincent, a softness to his usually sharp features.

Max found himself smiling. Feeling weirdly caught, he quickly laid down and tried his best to get the peaceful image of this newfound Vincent out of his head.


	3. Damaged Goods.

Vincent was everything but a sound sleeper. Sometimes, he was calm and placid, but often he would mumble unintelligibly in his dreams, breathe fitfully and even kick his legs. Ever since he had seen his scars Max had pondered their origin, and it made him wonder whether it maybe had been no coincidence that Vincent had brought up Rwanda that day in January.

Propped up on one elbow, Max listened, tried to make sense of the quiet whispers and murmurs, but no matter how much he concentrated, there were always only two words that he could make out.

“…get home.”


	4. Severed Roots.

Did he even have something he could call home? With both of his parents deceased before he had been legal, and apparently no other relatives ready to take care of him, was there a place he could come back to? It didn’t seem like he had ever attempted to start a family of his own either. Thank goodness.

On his back now, Max shook his head, kneaded his temples with the fingers of one hand, and sighed. Why did he even think so much about all this?

For some strange reason, the image of a flower basket crossed his mind.


End file.
